Hazard Pay
by B does the write thing
Summary: And he continued to frustrate her on a level that no perp, no coworker, no other human being with the possible exception of her younger brother ever achieved. - Short story between Sherlock/Sally


(Sherlock short story- don't own anything)

Propping her chin up on her hand, Sally Donovan dully regarded the computer screen in front of her.

Words like **homicide**, **victims**, **blood spray** and **forensic evidence** which should have jumped out in horrifying clarity blurred together under the seasoned detective's gaze. _Boring_.

That's what he had said.

_Boring_.

"The butler did it," he had thrown over his shoulder at her as he had exited the precinct, chatting animatedly with his "companion" John Watson. The absolute wanker.

Two weeks. She had spent a full two weeks on this double homicide, rushing forensics to process evidence, carefully hiding it from the prying eyes of the younger sergeants looking for a big case to break into- it had been hers. _Hers_.

And then that man-

Righteous anger, complete indignation, absolute loathing- she was fuming with it all as she marched back to her desk, slammed the file she had been reading onto the desk, and picked up the phone to call Anderson to rage-

And then she had sat down, listened to the off hook droning for a moment and then hung up and reopened the file and started going through it.

He had been right. The butler's statement did not match the facts of the case and the ticket stub he had supplied traced back to a university student's credit card.

She had rung up the country constable and he had gone off to arrest the man based on the less than thirty seconds analysis that a mad man had done over her shoulder.

Sally had spent hours venting about Sherlock bloody Holmes. Smirking at him, laughing at his ridiculous machine like movements and then spending hours standing around commenting on his relationship with the doctor who followed him around like a puppy.

It hadn't started out like this.

In fact, the first case he had managed to weasel his way into, she had been the one who had actually prevented Greg from throwing him out of the crime scene.

At first, he was bloody brilliant. But then, when he started to short cut the system, take dangerous and often seemingly unbiased leaps of faith- he had become unreliable. He had interviewed a suspect in a back alley pawn shop and then was coolly condescending when she had protested he had not had informed her.

"I didn't think it was necessary to involve the police," he had smarted, turning his back on her, effectively ending the conversation.

Lestrade had gone from her ally to his supporter seemingly overnight, leaving Sally and Anderson out in the cold.

And she hadn't thought of him as a righteous git. Not until the day he looked her up and down, turned to Anderson and drawled out," Late night, was it?"

A lesser woman would have smacked him. A lesser officer would have pulled out their pistol and shot him in the kneecap. Sally Donovan was brought up properly and was as proud of her badge as she was of her upbringing. She had tensed, looked the bastard right in the eye and told him to get lost.

She had found him in the coffee break room less than fifteen minutes later, eyes closed, and fingers templed and humming to himself. Other officers were clearing out, one newer officer was gently placing the coffee pot back and backing up, never taking his eyes off the man sitting perfectly still in the center of the room.

_The gall of him!_

Sally had been so frustrated, at the case, at the man who lived above her who didn't seem to care she worked nights and needed to sleep during the day, at Anderson who canceled lunch again that day, and then at the sheer ridiculousness that the constables who couldn't be bothered to show a senior sergeant an inch of respect but tiptoed around him in absolute admiration-

She had barged in, banged open some cabinets, threw around some packets, dropped the coffee filters, and overall orchestrated the loudest and longest coffee break in the history of the precinct.

Sherlock never moved a muscle.

—

And he continued to frustrate her on a level that no perp, no coworker, no other human being with the possible exception of her younger brother ever achieved.

Greg would just sigh whenever she barged into his office, arms folded, and eyes blazing.

"But this is my case!" She'd insist. "Why does he need access to my case files?"

"It's a big case, Sally," Greg said, eyes on the monitor in front of him. Pointedly not meeting her eyes. "Media is already breathing down on her necks on this one."

"I don't understand," she ground out through her teeth, "why you won't just let me handle this! I'm perfectly capable."

Greg had looked up; he looked bone weary and she felt a twinge of regret. She had heard some other officers talking about him sleeping on his office couch again last night-another row with the Mrs.

"Sally," Greg answered, rubbing his hand over the growth on his chin. "It is not that I do not find you capable. Out of half the department, you are the one I give cases I wouldn't even want to handle myself, much less trust to some of these other excuses for law enforcers." She eyed him, waiting.

"But, Sherlock Holmes is the reason our department is on an upswing both in the media and in the entire metropolitan area. If he has an insight on a case, he comes to us. I can't turn away that kind of assistance- not right now." Sally shook her head in dismissal, fed up and tired, she was close to flinging her case file on his desk and telling him to deal with his bloody pet himself when her better judgment won. It was a national level case and she could use a few more of those if she wanted to get transferred.

"Fine," she answered, turning to leave. "But you should warn him if he 'deduces' me one more time, I'm going to arrest him for public disorder."

"You can't do that, Sally-" She heard Greg call out but she was already down the hall, wondering what she should cook that night. Anderson was calling home to say he had to work late. A small smile crept onto her face as she walked into her office, thoughts of that night spiraling to the forefront of her thoughts and relaxing her.

"The autopsy report is back- did you overlook the broken collarbone at the scene on purpose or were you just saving it for shock and awe value at a later date? Or was it just overall incompetence on your part?"

Sally cocked her head to the side, eyes narrowing dangerously as all warm and happy thoughts fluttered away in exasperation.

"Get out of my chair, freak," she snarled. Advancing on the lean figure who had the audacity to have his feet propped on her desk and his stupid cheekbones in the case file, she flung out the word that would become her own pet name for him.

And that was how the relationship of Sally Donovan and Sherlock Holmes rapidly dissolved into snarky comments, rude greetings, and overall loathing.

—-

Greg continued to assign her to cases he worked and in which most often Sherlock took interest to, John Watson began to appear and while Sally begrudgingly noticed a difference in the consulting detective, she chose to ignore it and focus on belittling the two's cozy relationship. Watson was actually a nice chap when he wasn't punching people in the face or throwing all common sense to the wind to assist Holmes.

But every chance he got, Holmes took a swipe at her. She could forget mascara or have a stain on her trousers and the man wouldn't even bother with a greeting before he was pointing out her defects, playing on her insecurities and calling out personal and intimate details she could get fired for even having insinuated.

Greg looked the other way, other officers looked up to Holmes as the end and be all and that left Sally standing in front of crime scenes in the bitter cold, waiting for the technicians when Sherlock Holmes would come sweeping in with his collar turned up and his eyes flashing all imperially and walking past her like she wasn't an officer of the law but some kind of new signpost.

—

"Do you think he hates women?" she had thought out loud to Anderson once, mug of tea steaming in her hand while they curled up on her couch after hours.

"Most likely because he's batting for the other team," Anderson had answered, too focused on the football game highlights.

"I don't think so," Sally mused. He certainly got along better with Watson but she knew better. "No, I don't think he is. I've never seen him look at a man or a woman and really see them like that."

"I've heard him make quips about women all the time, Sal. 'She's much too beautiful for that', 'He's a handsome man, why would he be looking for escorts' and the like. I'm telling you, the man and that doctor of his are not just flat mates."

"No, no," Sally waved at him, sipping her tea. "He's making observations. A man who could model wouldn't need escorts unless he had an ulterior motive or desire for that- a woman who was an American beauty pageant winner wouldn't be slumming it with a skinny spotty check out clerk unless she needed something- he solved both cases in less than a day by just looking and thinking. Not just obsessing over the evidence or jumping to conclusions-"

"God, Sal," Anderson said, pulling his eyes from the screen to her. "You sound like Greg just now."

"Forget it," she replied, pulling the throw over her legs and settling into to watch the game with him. Hell, she knew the man was brilliant. She had even told Greg on a few occasions to just call Holmes already but it was when he got in her way- when he got too close to her that she snapped and growled and he always rose to the bait. Cutting and slicing with as few words as possible and using her own private issues against her without qualms.

—

"You know, if you just ignore him, he'll leave you alone," Molly Hooper had once said to her. Sally had just finished a particular brutal exchange with the detective over the body of a fallen athlete. Watson and Sherlock had left Sally fuming with the mousy pathologist who always looked like she was going to melt into the floor and disappear.

"Excuse me?" Sally muttered, turning her eyes from the swinging door back to the body.

A soft sigh escaped the woman beside her and Sally swung her head round.

"I'm just….I noticed he likes to provoke you, he does that when he feels…insecure," Molly calmly said, zipping up the bag around the body.

"And how do you know?" Sally responded, a bit too harsh. She could practically feel her mother frown at her in disapproval.

"I'm around him a lot," the pathologist answered, looking up at Sally with brown eyes. The woman seemed more solid now that Sherlock was gone, more sure of herself. "He likes to be the smartest person in the room, you know." She grinned a bit which was pleasant on her face. Sally stared a bit more than she meant to at the pleasant change it had on the other woman.

"You should see him with his brother," Molly giggled, stripping off her gloves and throwing them in the bin. "Mycroft goads him terribly and Sherlock rises to the bait every time. Gets a bit out of hand and then the two of them are left glowering at each other. John used to be dead embarrassed every time, now he just yawns through it- got used to them, I guess."

"You aren't like that with him, you look like you're going to faint of happiness if he so much as looks in your direction," Sally pointed out, then shut her mouth as she realized she was being very rude.

_ Just lash out at the nearest punching bag, Sal,_ she could practically hear her mother sigh._ Don't think about if they deserve it or not, long as it makes you feel better…._

The other woman blushed, ducking her head down. "Yes, well. I'm a bit of a goose, aren't I?" She finished collecting her files and turned to her office, "Still, it beats him taking a shot at me every time he sees me. He feels….secure with me. Knows where he stands. I don't threaten him or resent him or ridicule him and in turn, we have a…understanding of sorts."

Sally looked at the young woman, frowning slightly. Feeling like a heel, she gathered herself for an apology of sorts, but the words stuck in her throat. Like they usually did.

"Did you need anything else, Detective Donovan?" Molly asked, head tilting to the side, her long ponytail draped across her shoulder.

"No, thank you, Molly," Sally smiled tightly, cursing herself for being unable to say something as simple as I'm sorry to someone as nonthreatening as this doctor, "I'll let myself out."

—

After all the hoopla and media circus of the resurrected Sherlock Holmes, Sally found herself standing in a drawing room, an apparent suicide laid before them. Sensing movement, she looked up through the large bay window. She saw him waltz up the sidewalk, long legs flashing under his overcoat and Watson struggling to keep up with him, a mustache covering his face like a scarf.

She turned right as they walked into the room, windburn on their faces. Sherlock opened his mouth to supersede her rejection but she cut him off," Mr. Holmes, it looks like a suicide but something feels off. Care to take a look?"

He reviewed her with his usual courtly glare, looking down from his height in his best intimidation routine but she simply stepped out of his way to the body and folded her arms.

"By the way, John," she threw out, "That's a ridiculous mustache."

—

As further cases proceeded, Sally learned to be polite but firm with Sherlock and she noticed he endeavored to do the same. Occasionally, one of them lost their temper and a cruel remark came cutting to the quick but the next meeting was usually followed by an apologetic comment of some sort- in fact the first time he had complimented on her hair style, Anderson had almost dropped his kit in surprise.

Greg let her take on more cases and when time came for her review; she turned in her transfer, explaining she was interested in pursuing a relationship with an unnamed fellow officer and would like to move precincts in order to not commit any violations of the department. Greg regarded her with a hint of fondness and told her to go stuff herself.

It wasn't until the day of transfer as she was in the coffee room surrounded by well-wishers when the tall man entered, nodded at her and calmly remarked, "Best of luck to you Detective Donovan, if you ever need any consulting work…"

"Call you Holmes?" Sally grinned at him, "Not bloody likely!"

He twitched his lips at her in mutual understanding, "Safe to say that area will be a crime paradise within the year," he turned to leave before glancing back at her over his shoulder, "Congratulations." And disappeared out of the door.

Anderson growled at her side, "I'm going to shoot him one of these days…."

"Nah," Sally soothed, putting her hand on his arm. It felt good to be so open about touching him now. "He'll be around if I need him but he loves getting under your skin too much to come around me looking for work."

And Sally was perfectly happy, promoted, transferred and soon to be engaged if the box she had found in Anderson sock drawer the other day meant anything significant. Which she sure it was considering how Holmes had cast a meaningful look at her left hand while issuing his congratulations. She beamed as Greg walked in with a cake, yelling "Quiet down you lot and let the woman speak!"

She was going to miss this lot.

A gunshot went off down the hall, most officers quickly spinning, their hands going to their sidearms in instinct while Greg almost dropped the cake in his alarm but before the ringing had subsided a familiar voice called out, "Nothing to worry about- no, no, everything's fine. See John, I told you it wouldn't ricochet off linoleum- the whole alibi is flimsy at best."

Mostly.


End file.
